


(I know, I know, I know)

by rhymeswithmonth



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: F/M, First Meetings, Gender or Sex Swap, alcohol consumption, always a girl harry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 18:53:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5344820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhymeswithmonth/pseuds/rhymeswithmonth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If there was one true example of the term intimidating woman, Louis has found her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(I know, I know, I know)

**Author's Note:**

> I feel the waves getting started  
> It's a rush inside I can't control  
> Your eyes keep pulling me in  
> (I know, I know, I know)  
> Your friends all talkin' 'bout me  
> They say I got no chance at all  
> Your fire is burning deep  
> In my soul, my soul, my soul!
> 
> Written purely because of this picture: http://rhymeswithmonth.tumblr.com/post/134137368901/quentindebriey-steffymenyc-august-2014

If there was one true example of the term intimidating woman, Louis has found her. 

She’s as tall as he is, perhaps taller if he’s being honest, with chunky heeled boots raising her above the crowd. The martini glass dangling from her fingers chimes against her impressive collection of rings, one for every finger, and two on her pinky. She raises her drink to laugh coyly behind, which makes the fact that the glass is empty impossible to ignore. Louis has never wanted anything as much as he wants to buy her a new one. He swallows dryly, too afraid to approach. 

And it shouldn’t be a surprise really, when she catches him staring. He’s been watching her for the most of an hour, tipsy and abandoned by his mates for the dance floor. One of her friends, a soft looking blonde who hasn’t stopped laughing since they appeared at the bar, notices Louis and leans in to point him out, her blue eyes gleaming. 

Alone in his booth Louis shrinks under her gaze. She’s breathtaking in such an unconventional way. Her eyes pass over him appraisingly, face held carefully blank, dark brows raised just slightly. Her hair is pulled back to bare the almost serpentine slant of her eyes, high cheekbones and sharp jaw. And her lips - her lips are divine. Plush and pouty, their vivid colour is visible even in the dim ambiance of the club. As they hold eye contact, they curve slowly upward in a closed-mouth smirk. She leans back to her friend, murmuring something with her eyes fixed on Louis. Even from afar she has him flushing red hot, raising his beer for a desperate chug. 

She approaches, swaying on endless legs wrapped in snug black denim. Reaching his booth she looms over him, sleeveless blouse gaping almost to her belly-button. She doesn't appear to be wearing a bra - only a silver cross swinging between the visible curves of her breasts. “This table is awfully big for one.” She greets, voice husky and surprisingly deep. Louis finds it suits her. 

He takes a beat too long to reply, caught up in her sudden presence, tongue slow with booze. He clears his throat and pitches his voice lower than usual, trying to match her sensual cadence. “It is.” he agrees, “would you like to rectify that?”

Her smile widen, revealing a crescent of pearly teeth and unexpected dimples. How is there room in that chiseled cheek for dimples? “I’d love to.” she purrs, manoeuvring into the booth and sliding all the way in, until her knee makes contact with Louis’. It is a very large booth, and squeezing together like this is far from necessary. 

Louis raises his glass in salute before downing the whole thing. 

 

 

If there’s one true example of the term adorable dork, Louis has found her.

The golden morning sun streams into the room, permitted by the open curtains they’d been too drunk and too preoccupied to close the night before. I wakes Louis far too early for a hungover Sunday, but it also means he gets a chance to admire the sight beside him.

Harry is an ugly sleeper. She's still gorgeous, of course, but she’s lost everything that was pristine and untouchable about her. Her gangly limbs are sprawled over most of the bed, one leg hopelessly tangled in the sheet, the other hooked over Louis’ knees. Her torso’s contorted to mush her face half into the pillow, her cheek all squashed, makeup from last light smudged around her puffy eyes. Her lips gape, glisten of saliva threatening Louis’ pillow case. Unladylike snores puff forth rhythmically every few seconds. 

Gradually the sounds of the city pick up, traffic and sirens, and it’s a car alarm right outside the flat that does it. She blinks glazed eyes, face immediately scrunching into a dismayed scowl. “Too bright.” she gurgles, rolling toward Louis to bury her face between his chest and the mattress. She’s basically nuzzling his arm-pit, and after a night out and the activities that followed it can’t be the freshest place. He’s feel more self-conscious if she didn’t immediately hum in containment, pressing a wet kiss beside his nipple.

“Morning sleeping beauty.” He chuckles, running a hand through the wild bush that her hair has morphed into overnight. He barely strokes at all before his fingers snag, the mess of curls hopelessly tangles.

“Mmm morning.” she hums, snaking her arms around him, legs following close behind. He’d lent her one of his vests to sleep in. Where his clothes usually hang like dresses on the girls he brings home, his shirt is tight on Harry, and leaves her lower half bare. He can’t say he minds as their bodies rub up against each other. 

“Hey you want something? I’m gonna make a cuppa.”

She grumbles and smacks her lips loudly, squinting up blearily. Louis can see the sleep-crust in the corners of her eyes. “Coffee please.” she rasps, “I need coffee to feel human.”

Louis doesn’t normally drink coffee, but he thinks he has some left from when Lottie was visiting over the holiday. “Be right back.” he promises, reluctantly slipping out of her embrace. 

He flicks the electric kettle on before opening up the cupboard where he keeps all the junk he doesn’t use regularly. His crappy old coffee maker is there under a muffin tray that was a gift from his mother (who isn’t at all subtle in her attempts to get him to cook more) and a broken pasta strainer he has yet to throw away. 

Finding the coffee itself is a bit trickier. It’s not with his teas, or in the pantry. He finally locates it in the cupboard above the fridge, but its been shoved too the back and he can barely brush it with the tips of his fingers. Disgruntled, he hops on his tiptoes, straining his arms to the fullest extent. 

Without warning there’s a body pressed to his back, and hands pushing his aside to snag the tin. “I’ve got it.” Harry murmurs into his ear, her breath warm and honestly a little bit smelly. Louis falls back on his heels and spins to face her. She grins cheekily at him, “You’re adorable.” 

Louis pouts. She’s not even that much taller than him, an inch at the most, just enough that she could snag the coffee. “Thanks.” he sighs, taking the tin from her. He hurries to fill the pot with water, slips a filter in and spoons what he thinks is the correct amount of coffee in. Flicking the lid closed he turns it on and turns back. In the time he’d done that Harry’s fetched the kettle and poured boiling water into his mug. 

“Trade you.” she says, handing him the tea and bringing her own empty mug to watch the slow trickle of coffee hiss into the pot. She parks her sharp elbows in the counter and gazes lovingly at the pooling liquid. “That’s right lovely come to mama.” 

“Shall I leave you two alone?” Louis laughs, slowly stirring his milk into the tea. 

“Yeah you’ve exposed me.” She drawls, moving into his space to drape her arms around his shoulders. “I’me just here for the coffee. Nothing else.”

She’s wearing a pair of his boxers, plain grey with a white band. Louis slips his hand to feel where the waist cuts into her hips, delightful little swells of pudge blossoming over the top. She beams at him all crinkly eyes and slight buck teeth, bending to rub their noses together. He can barely even recall why he’d been to scared to approach her last night, she’s literally five foot nine of smiley goofball.

He raises his mug in salute before darting up to capture her lips in his.


End file.
